Bitter
by Lady Bianca
Summary: After three years of stagnancy, Hawke arrives at Fenris' mansion, reopening some old wounds. However, the two are forced to stay their relationship when an old threat arises to reclaim some stolen property. [Rivalmance, (F) Hawke x Fenris.]


If he regretted one thing about staying in Hightown, it was the unrelenting proximity to Hawke. It wasn't exactly as if they were next-door neighbors, but a wrong turn and he'd be at her doorstep. He didn't leave his house much, unless summoned. He didn't admit to himself it was because he didn't want to run into her alone.

Fenris sighed and finished off the glass of wine. It had been somewhat of a nightly ritual, some nights heavier than others. It helped him sleep, help him ignore the fact that his life was less than up to par. He stared through the open common room door and into the stairway. There wasn't much to engage in within his house besides deep self-psychological abuse. He needed a hobby, he thought, looking down at the wineglass. A less destructive one.

There was the sound of bolting metal, grande and ringing and causing him to jump instinctively to his feet, hand gripping the hilt of the shortsword he kept on him when necessity disallowed his more prefered axe.

"Who's there?" he growled, his fighting mettle not much dulled by the alcohol yet.

"It's just me, Fenris." the familiar female voice did nothing to put him at ease.

"Hawke." he said, watching the woman walk into the foyer, her eyes filtering the house with judgement.

"It's been three years-"

"You haven't come to berate me about that." he told her defensively.

"And you still haven't cleaned this Hellhole up." Hawke finished with a self-satisfied silent laugh.

Fenris scowled at her and returned to the more private back room. He heard her footsteps, light and nearly self-concealed as she ascended the stairs, followed by slightly louder ones as she entered through the doorframe.

"But I see you're still thinking about a _different_ incident three years past." Hawke said, her voice an attempt to be good-spiritedly condescending. It sounded more hopeless to him.

Fenris turned towards her and opened his mouth to combat her assumption. He wasn't going to do this with her- not this late, not after this long a day. She had this unintentionally instigative way about her, and it now reared with full-force.

"I am, too." she admitted, disengaging eye contact with him.

"And?" he said, his voice hardening around the weaknesses in her psyche.

He should've kicked her out when he had the chance, he told himself.

"I still don't know what I did wrong." Hawke said, entering the room and sitting in the chair adjacent his.

It was far too late for this. He did not intend to engage in any deep heart-to-heart chat with this woman, not now or at any point in the future.

Fenris said nothing in return. He stared at her eyes, searching for some traditional glimmer, some sign that she was luring him into an elaborate, self-esteem-damaging prank. There was none. She took his hand tenderly in hers, holding on despite his initial backwards jolt of resistance to her touch.

"I've wondered, every time when I'm drunk and tired and lonely enough, about what you were intending when you waited in my hallway. I wondered what you were thinking when I told you to stay, when you..." she dropped the sentence as her pitch rose with the suggestion of tears.

He didn't know any way to answer her. There was no explanation that sounded reasonable aloud, not on this subject.  
Hawke breathed, a slight shudder as she let out air and the knot tightening audibly in her throat.

"And most of all," she ran her free hand over his gauntlet, "What right you have to still wear my favor." With that, she untied the red band and pocketed it, her head tilted downwards, refusing to look him in the eye.

There was no easy way to feel about that. It couldn't possibly be a relief to have the last pleasant intimate memory of the woman gone, but it wasn't exactly distressing either. But it was the sentiment behind her words that truly set him on edge- the suggestion that she had simply given up on him, that she felt not but disappointment towards him. The best he could figure was that he was somewhat surprised and somewhat agitated by her distrustful boldness.

"I apologize, Hawke." He said sharply, his words edged and pointed as the exited his mouth. "From now on, I'll put aside the abuse I endured and live to bend to your will, more so than I already do."

"That's not what I meant." she protested, standing up from her chair and pacing alongside the nearby table. "If you never want to touch me, or see me, or hear my name again, fine."

Fenris braced himself. She wasn't about to let his comment go.

"Just be _honest_ about it, for the sake of the Maker."

"About what?"

"If, three years ago, you had just wanted a little bit of _fun_," the rogue said with a sneer, "You should've just told me."

"Hawke, that was never my intention." Fenris said, his tone harsh to dominate her rampant emotions. "I'm about to go on feeling guilty all my life for one night with you."

"_Guilty_." Hawke broke her pace and stared him in the eye with deep distaste. "'Guilty' is what you feel when you drown a bag of kittens. 'Guilty' is what you feel when you sleep with your best mate's wife. 'Guilty'" - she furrowed her brow- "is what you feel when you use some whore in a back alley." She snatched the half-empty bottle from the table and took a thick swig.

"If you're going to feel 'guilty' about having sex with me," she said, her eyes sheened with a thin cover of tears, "you could've at least left a sovereign or two on my nightstand."

That struck a nerve. Fenris stood, a blue flare rippling through his lyrium markings. Hawke stepped back, giving him a look that was not entirely unlike pleading.

"I was wrong about you." he said, his lyrium qualmed but his eyes still glowing with anger. "I thought I could still respect you."

Hawke held her rank, her fists balled, her lips drawn. She was uncharacteristically vulnerable. It scared Fenris, more than her retribution did. The woman usually had an arsenal of retorts tucked into every hidden nook of her armor, but this was different. It was far worse.

"This... wasn't what you came here for, was it?" He asked, awkwardly cooling his temper before sitting again and finishing off another glass of wine.

"Of course not." she said, clearing her throat.

It did nothing to mask her onslaught of violent emotions.

"I just came with good news and bad news. The good news is that Isabela caught wind of a group of slavers, and a master looking for his escaped 'investment.'" she said. "The bad news- he's offering anyone who finds the escaped slave a ransom of sixteen-hundred sovereigns."

That caught his attention, his pulse quickening and deepening, his throat drying and his hands aching for Danarius' neck.  
"You don't mean-" he said to ascertain.

"It's a rumor yet, but yes, as far as we can trust Isabela." she said quickly, walking to the doorway she had only just entered.

She paused. He said nothing, his mind was too busy swimming and pulsing with surges of realization to form coherence.  
"I actually came here to ask you if you wanted to leave immediately."

"_Maker_, Hawke." Fenris groaned, dropping his forehead into an armed palm.

This was the precise thing he'd been waiting to hear for years. It shouldn't have come out like this, there should've been more ceremony. Hell, he wouldn't've minded if she got half of the Free Marches to come parading into his house with banners and trumpets if it were to tell him that he might finally achieve a proper state of equilibrium after what seemed like decades. Hawke should've skipped the emotional prelude and launched right into mentioning the fact that the burden of his existence had finally appeared and was ripe for the kill. He wasn't sure which one of them to feel anger towards- himself for being vicious, or her for provoking him. He decided to split the difference and silently despite the both of them.

"But we both need our sleep." Hawke said. "Never a good idea to hunt down dangerous magisters with vengeful intentions while half of Kirkwall wants the bounty over your head unless you're well-rested." She said sing-songishly, moving her hand up and down the door frame distractedly.

"I'm prepared to go now." Fenris protested, his voice solid.

It had been years-not without incident-without a glimpse of Danarius, but if this were the lead he sought, the next sight he had of his old master would be his last. There was no option to sleep. He couldn't, now, not with all the alcohol in Lowtown.

"I'm not." chimed Hawke with defiance, taking another long drag from the wine bottle and wiping her mouth, setting the now-emptied bottle at her feet. "And I don't think either of us is willing to put up with Isabela at this hour." She laughed half-heartedly in what seemed a sorry attempt to lighten the mood.

"First thing tomorrow, I promise."

Fenris stared at her for a moment. She was helpful in his rebellion against those who wished to reclaim him, yes, and she was sympathetic often, but she never fully understood the weight those many years as a slave had on his mental state. If it had been her-tortured, beaten, starved, and never sure when her usefulness would expire and her head would be next on the chopping block-there would be no 'waiting.' There would be no sleep. But in the end, Hawke was the charismatic glue that held the party together and it was useless to challenge her decisions.

"First. Thing." he growled.

"Feel free to brood loudly outside my window should I not rise to your liking." she said with a mock curtsy, leaving the room and descending the staircase.

He appreciated her bravado, though it was indubitably false. She'd never liked being vulnerable-that, he remembered well. She had rejected femininity and simultaneously lavished in it, hated raw emotions but toyed with them constantly, ignored personal affairs and made them grounds for incredible manipulation. She was a violent, multifaceted contradiction, and it set him on edge. Now, she had a lit fuse, too. It was only a matter of time before she seriously hurt someone, and he imagined that with the state of their relationship, it would be him.

He heard a whispered "good night," from downstairs, so quiet it was likely intended only for herself, then the mechanical creaking again, the sound of some passage being made, and then there was nothing. Even in her silence, Hawke had a loud presence. Now, the room felt stagnant. He told himself he liked it that way.

But there would be ample time to consider Hawke, he thought, removing the oversized axe from its wall placard and taking a whetstone to it. There were more pressing matters at hand, such as introducing his old master to his new sense of freedom.


End file.
